


Stress Fractures in Titanium

by Madoshi, Serinah



Series: POI in English [1]
Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Angst, Bromance, Episode Tag, F/M, Romance, Self-Recrimination, Spoilers for the Episode s04e18 'Skip'
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-28
Updated: 2015-03-28
Packaged: 2018-03-20 02:19:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3633024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Madoshi/pseuds/Madoshi, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Serinah/pseuds/Serinah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Your head is on the chopping block, you're under Damocles' sword, but you can't help it, since all the freshness, all the sweetness, all the bitterness of the world are waiting at her lips.<br/>___<br/>AKA an attempt of a hard-core rinch shipper to make her peace with what happened in "Skip".</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stress Fractures in Titanium

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Трещины в титане](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3632442) by [Madoshi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Madoshi/pseuds/Madoshi). 



> **Author's Note:** I like rinch more than any pairing I've ever come across. I happily ship them in a pure bromance way or in a BDSM dungeon. I can totally understand hard feelings many fans seem to develop against Iris. But I beg to differ :) 
> 
> Here is my attempt to show how this pairing might work.
> 
> The title is from the title of the book John was reading in S01E21.
> 
>  **Translator's Note:** Most of translation work was done by Madoshi, but Serinah made so much heavy editing that it would be unfair not to list her as a co-author. Still, we both are in no way native speakers, so if you see any mistakes, please let us know.

A soft touch of her fingers, lips, gaze. And — she is turning, has turned, is leaving. The walls of her office are fading away, "Passengers are invited to board" coming from somewhere, barely audible.

The same tilt of her head, the same achingly straight back, the same elegant lines of her hand...

He let her slip away that time, and they both paid for it with everything they had.

He can't let her slip away again.

Almost against his own will John catches her arm.

 

***

 

Even titanium fractures under stress.

You know you shouldn't do this.

You are absolutely sure.

Your head is on the chopping block, you're under Damocles' sword, but you can't help it, since all the freshness, all the sweetness, all the bitterness of the world are waiting at her lips. A man dying of thirst in the desert would gulp the water even knowing that the well has been poisoned.

Love and the need to love are poison, all-powerful and all-penetrating. You can count yourself among the dead, see yourself as a zombie who came to Earth to correct something you hadn't been able to while being alive. But this treacherous feeling will grow from the deepest grave, from under the heaviest tombstone...

 

***

 

It's treacherous because it's…

 

***

Iris moved quietly beside him. Uneven light of the nearing sunset seeping through beige venetian blinds outlined her arms, the soft curve of her neck, the dark snakes of her hair on the white pillows.

His chest felt strangely heavy and hot, his throat tight. John followed the dark lock with his finger. It wasn't smooth, not silk but fur. Like petting a cat.

Her smell, well-known and unfamiliar at once, made his head swim. Her sweet perfume, her sweet female body, so soft and fragile under his too big, too rough palms... How could he imagine, even for a moment, that this shelter was meant for him? How could she have let him in?

He pushed some stray thought about promised gardens to the back of his head.

Iris smiled.

'I'm just a psychologist, John, an ordinary one.'

'What?' he didn't understand.

'I can't read your mind. And judging by your look, your thoughts are several light years away.'

'Only several months,' John replied with an uneasy smile. His face felt like a dried crust, the smile cracked it, pieces falling, leaving his bare, new-born skin, unaccustomed to alien glances and touches. 'In several months you'll know me better and cut me loose.'

'I feel like you're with me right now only because I already know you somewhat,' she replied in all seriousness. 'And you desperately need to let yourself be, if only for a while.'

Under her warm gaze the crust continued to crumble, baring places with no skin at all, the bleeding wounds.

John closed his eyes, not daring to look. Her presence burnt like the sun.

"In several months I might be dead," he thought. "And you too — because of me. And all I can do to prevent it, is to stop this here and now..."

'And because it's important to me too, to keep this relationship a secret,' Iris added.

'I don't...'

 

'I don't ask what other secrets you keep,' she pressed her finger to his lips, her skin a little salty, unbearably fragrant. 'There is a lot you are not telling me, that much is obvious. But sooner or later...'

'Iris, I don't want to mislead you...'

'John...' she put her little palms on his shoulders, her touch light, almost weightless, like paws of a tiny animal. 'I... may we just have this moment? As it is?'

And they had that moment as it was.

He couldn't resist.

For so long John hadn't had anything at all, except...

 

***

Harold didn't look just tired, he looked ill. He was leaning back in his chair, his arms hanging lifelessly. John went cold for a moment, but then he noticed the gentle rise and fall of Harold's chest.

'Is Root gone again?' John asked.

'For a while,' said Finch. 'I asked her to.'

'Did anything happen?' John came up to him and tentatively put his hand on Finch's shoulder.

His jacket felt cold to the touch, probably due to many layers.

'It happened that she almost killed a person,' Finch replied acidly - as much as he was able to in his condition, anyway.

As always, John felt his own hand on the other's shoulder inappropriate, unwanted, awkward. He stubbornly left it where it was. Finch would hardly shake off his hand. However unpleasant it was, he could live with it. In his current state an irritant like this was good for him.

'Did you stop her?'

'Yes.'

'Good.'

A short chuckle that left Harold's lips after this plain 'good' made John suspect it hadn't been as simple as that. An icy wave of rage, of helplessness and desperation washed over him. He wanted to help this man so much, and Harold wasn’t letting him, and John didn't know how to make him, couldn't find the right words...

If only Harold had a woman who could...

John had...

'Tit for tat', said John. 'l tell you about the terrible thing I did today and you tell me, what Root did.'

'The trade is not equivalent', Harold shook his head. 'And as for your congruence with Dr. Campbell, I wouldn't pass you such a harsh judgment.'

Of course Harold knew. Harold always knew everything.

'You gave up the woman you loved,' said John. 'I couldn't. I put her under fire. I know I shouldn't have...'

'Nonsense,' Finch either lost his temper or regained some balance. He sat up straighter in his chair and was glaring at John. John took his hand off the shoulder. 'Until your cover as Detective Riley is intact, Dr. Campbell has nothing to be afraid of. When your cover is blown, there are two possible scenarios. According to the first one, Samaritan gets rid of everybody who has any connection to you whatsoever, starting with Detective Fusco and ending with a police station housekeeper. Alternately, it won't want to draw too much attention to the situation and leave those not directly involved be. In any case, a romantic relationship with you raises the risk level for Dr. Campbell only slightly. Potential benefits vastly outweigh...'

'Benefits', John chuckled bitterly and shook his head. 'I'll break her heart, Finch.'

'She'll live,' suddenly, as if having remembered something, Finch touched John's wrist with two fingers. 'The future is unknown to us, Mr Reese. I'm sure you'll be able to protect her. And to step away before the damage is irreparable.'

Behind his usual artificial testiness, Harold’s voice contained so much gentle, unexpected care as if he put everything he’d survived into it. John felt treacherous tightness in his throat and even more alien wetness in his eyes. Not an unusual occurrence around Finch.

He turned his eyes away.

John swallowed the sarcastic response, "thank you for absolution" ready to drop from the tip of his tongue. Something else came out instead, from deep down, from under titanium cover which had cracked because of Iris's smile.

'Harold...' he paused. 'You know who else I protect. I seem to be doing a bad job of it.'

Finch blinked and turned away, but his shoulders relaxed a little.

'Taking a bullet for me is not good enough in your books, is it?' he asked dryly.

'Not really,' John simply said.

Harold's shoulders slumped even more.

'I had a plan', he whispered. 'It could have given the Machine a decisive advantage over Samaritan. And Root ruined it.'

Reese didn’t reply.

'I think if you knew her reasons you might be be on her side. You see, there was a good chance that I would not survive if this plan is brought to a successful conclusion.'

"Damn," Reese thought.

He was soaking in the glow of Iris' smile, he was being reborn, while Finch was preparing to die.

How was he supposed to respond to such an admission?

‘Try something like that again,’ he said simply, 'I'll kill you myself.'

And Finch laughed.

 

***

 

In the evening, she is waiting for him at the doorstep of her apartment. She wears a mossy-green dress he likes so much. There is worry in her eyes, though. He drinks the clear freshness of her mouth and can't have enough.

He is like a bottomless well, he doesn't have enough strength for himself, for Finch, for Fusco, for Root. But she gives and gives and he's afraid he will drain her.

He should stop, he should end this.

But cracks are expanding, sprouts are breaking free from under the dirt, and he has no power to stop the inexorable onslaught of nature.

 

***

 

Iris strokes John's salt-and-pepper head on her lap, and can’t stop looking into the future. The future frightens and excites her, she's sleepless and restless, drunk on happiness and dismay.

And John sleeps.

By her side he can sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> On a side note: right now we're working on the translation of a rather large story (Harold/John, sci-fi AU, Explicit) and if anybody could give us a hand with proofreading on a regular or a semi-regular basis, we would be forever grateful.


End file.
